Page 7 of Wretched Choices

Feeling like a caged animal, I look around desperately as the man approaches me. Tall, broad-chested. I can see the muscles of his thighs flexing as he walks toward me. His sharp jaw clenches as he approaches me, his blue eyes assessing me witha questioning look. I try to read his face, but it’s unreadable. No emotion to be seen.

“You have one minute to explain yourself.”

I swallow hard, searching my brain. I can’t find a good answer, which is unlike me, as I always have one. But snooping in the office of a person I don’t know is difficult to explain.

He approaches, pinning me with a look, and I’m trying to breathe and failing. Even if I had an answer, I doubt I could give it.

“I’m waiting,” he hisses.

“I was looking…” I start, but as he stops in front of me, he grabs me by the throat, taking me by surprise. He doesn’t choke me, he just presses enough for me to still be able to breathe. I gasp. My eyes widen as I look him in the eyes. My whole body is shaking from his touch.

“You were looking for what? Who are you?”

My stomach drops to the floor, my skin is crawling, and sweat drips down my back. Who am I? What do I tell him? I always have a way out, but the touch of this man and his closeness is making me think irrationally. What’s worse is the tingling down in my core; a feeling that’s new to me. Something I have never felt before from a first touch.

The man is so close to me, his legs pressing against mine. I can feel his heat in the small gap between us.

His spicy smell is taking away my ability to think. His eyes bore into mine as he waits for the answer I don’t have. Even with his stoic face, I can see a sea of emotion deep in his beautiful blue eyes. They’re speaking to me, telling me what his face doesn’t. For a moment, I thought he was going to let me go so we can talk things out, but that was just my imagination and the magic of his blue eyes.

I don’t know how long we stay like this before we’re interrupted. The door opens, breaking the spell and giving meback my senses. Making me realize the situation I found myself in. Because my back is to the door, I can’t see who has entered.

“Boss, should I take over?” the man speaks, his voice deep and rough. All business.

My eyes widen, knowing very well that taking over only means one thing: interrogation. I try to speak, but the man’s grip on my throat tightens, and he looks at me with a smirk on his lips.

“Just a moment, Dante. Let’s give her a chance to give her reasons for being here. I haven’t yet heard a word from her. Still waiting.”

“If she’s not talking, I can make her,” Dante says, like this is a normal thing he does. And the realization of what he means hits me hard.

“No,” I choke out. “I’m sorry. I think you’ve got this all wrong.”

The man in front of me smirks, and his grip on my neck loosens. “And why is that? Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

“I’m just a journalist. I’m here for a story.” I say the only thing I can. The truth, which I follow with a lie.

“Go on,” he commands.

“The affair between Senator Wilson’s wife and some guy.” He raises his eyebrow, questioning. I quickly add, “They said it was someone in management here. I don’t know who, and I just wanted to catch them in the act.”

There is no such information. Well, there is, but I’m not interested in it. But the senator and his wife are here, so I hope he believes me.

He looks at Dante, and then, unexpectedly, he laughs. A deep laugh that slices through my bones. And then, just as suddenly, he stops.

“Let’s check that story, shall we?” he says and lets go of my throat. He seizes me by the arm and spins me around, forcing my upper body down until my face is flat on the table and myass is in the air. One of my hands is twisted behind my back, and the other is in front of me, trying to push my body up, which is useless against the strength of the man who is pinning me down.

“What are you doing?” I protest, but my voice comes out breathy.

“Don’t bother trying to move,” he hisses.

He takes my phone and clutch from the table. From my peripheral, I can see the other man approaching.

“Do a check on her and her story.” He gives Dante my stuff, and he leaves without saying a word.

I don’t argue, knowing there’s no use. This man, whoever he is, is obviously very dangerous, and so is Dante. The room is too silent; the only thing I can hear is my ragged breathing, and I can feel his eyes on me. I break the silence.

“I don’t know what you think, but you’ve got it all wrong,” I say, trying to get out of his grip.

He chuckles. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to check you out.”

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